Prologue

      Barton Park—summer 1820

      ‘Oh, Rose! Doesn’t the music just make you want to twirl and twirl and twirl?’

      Rose Parker sat back on her heels and laughed as she watched her sister, Lily, spin in an exuberant circle, her new white lace and tulle skirts like a great cloud. The music from the party floated up to their chamber and it was indeed very twirly. ‘You won’t twirl for long if I don’t finish that hem. It will come unravelled and you will trip and fall flat on your face—right in front of Mr Hewlitt.’

      Lily came to an abrupt stop, stumbling on her satin slippers. ‘Oh, no, Rose!’ she cried, her pretty, heart-shaped face full of stark fear. ‘I could never do such a thing. How he would despise me!’

      Rose laughed again. She couldn’t help it; her sister’s adorable ways were always too funny. ‘Lily, my dearest, Mr Hewlitt would never in a thousand years despise you for anything. In fact, stumbling and falling into his arms would probably only make him worship you more as his delicate angel.’

      A tiny smile broke through Lily’s pout. ‘I—well, perhaps so. He is so terribly sweet.’

      ‘And terribly sweet on you. Mama says he will surely ask you something very important indeed tonight,’ Rose said. She did have to tease Lily just a bit, as she always had, even when her sister was a tiny, golden-curled cherub prone to blushing and shrieking when provoked. But she was serious, too. Mr Hewlitt had been stammering his way up to just such a moment for weeks and this ball at their cousins’ home at Barton Park to celebrate midsummer seemed the perfect opportunity. It was true that he was a curate with only a middling income, yet everyone could see how good he was at his calling, so caring and energetic. Surely a bishopric waited for him one day!

      And he adored Lily, as she did him. Together the two of them were as adorable as a box of new puppies.

      Rose was happy for her sister, yet wistful, too. With just herself and their mother, their cottage would be much too quiet. Too lonely.

      Rose sighed. She would have to procure a kitten, or mayhap a songbird. Wasn’t that what useful spinsters did? Collect pets, especially cats, and knit them little sweaters and such? It sounded rather diverting.

      ‘Come, dearest Lily, let me finish the hem,’ she said. ‘Or the dancing will be over before Mr Hewlitt can find you.’

      Lily climbed back on to the low stool, watching in the mirror with a little frown as Rose plied her needle through the delicate beaded tulle. ‘Do you really, truly think he will propose?’

      ‘Of course he will.’

      ‘Do—do you think I should accept, then? Right away?’

      Rose was surprised at her sister’s suddenly unsure, quiet tone. She glanced up to see that Lily did indeed look worried, something most uncharacteristic. She quickly thought back on Mr Hewlitt’s courtship: his visits to the cottage, his little gifts of bouquets and books of poetry, his walks with Lily, the way they stared at each other as if there was no one else around at all. Had she missed something? ‘Do you have doubts, dearest? Has he done something—ungentlemanly?’ She couldn’t quite imagine that, but then again one never really knew with men. Look how their own father had concealed his debts, his terrible gambling habits, from his wife and daughters until he died and they were cast out of their home.

      Surely Mr Hewlitt would never do that. If he dared to hurt Lily in any way, Rose would murder him.

      ‘Oh, no, not at all! It’s just—’ Lily broke off, biting her lip. ‘Well, what will you and Mama do?’

      ‘Oh, Lily.’ Rose gave her the most reassuring smile she could manage. Was that not the very same question she had asked herself since Father died? ‘You must not worry about that, dearest. We will be absolutely fine. Indeed, I’m quite looking forward to making your chamber into my very own sitting room. The mind reels at the thought of so much space! I will be just like a duchess with my own suite.’

      Lily laughed, as well she would. Their cottage was approximately the size of a thimble, even with Lily’s extra little chamber they had built at the back. ‘And you will visit me very often, won’t you? I won’t be far away.’

      ‘So often you will be heartily sick of me.’

      ‘Promise?’

      ‘Just try to keep me away.’ Rose finished the last stitch in the hem and stood up to give her sister a hug, careful not to muss her ruffles and curls. Lily smelled of violet powder and sweetness, just as she had when she was a child, and Rose had held her dimpled little hands to help her walk. She laughed to keep from crying.

      ‘You really should marry first, as the eldest daughter. That is the natural way,’ Lily said.

      Rose laughed again. ‘Find me another Mr Hewlitt, then. Until I have just such a paragon, I would never be able to tolerate wifely duties.’

      ‘He is out there, Rose, I just know